


You Don't Get Her, Kingslayer

by kittykatknits



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Epilogue, F/M, Featuring the Lannister Brothers, Fluff, Jealous Jon, Possessive Jon, R plus L equals J, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: From the tumblr prompt: jaime rides to winterfell and bends the knee to sansa and becomes an honorable advisor, Jon is very jealous. (bonus points if he walks past dany who thinks he's bending the knee to her instead of sansa)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will turn explicit in the second chapter.

The wind bit into him, whipping at his cloak, but Sansa stood at the battlement’s edge as if they faced only a summer snow. Her hair lifted and fluttered about, even slapping against him once or twice. Jon fought the temptation to wrap it around his fist and pull her to him.

“A rider approaches.”

“Do you not recognize him, Lord Tyrion?”

Jon stepped forward, brushing her side as he did so. A lone man rode a black horse up the kings road. From the distance, it could as easily be a sell sword from one of the free cities or even Florian the Fool come amongst them again. “How do you know?”

Her blue eyes pierced him. “Isn’t it obvious?” Not to him. “A lone rider, dressed in black and coming from the south.”

Jon didn’t think that much of an explanation. But, if Sansa said so, then it was the Kingslayer. In truth, Jon wished he approached with an army behind him, the Lannisters had sworn themselves to their cause.

Tyrion slapped his hand against the grey stone wall. “I always knew your sister was smarter than most.” He looked up at Jon, pityingly. “He’s all in black, as far from the kingsguard as one can get.”

Sansa’s expression softened as her lips curled into a half smile. “Would you escort me, Lord Tyrion, to greet your brother? He’ll be quite eager to see you.” They began to walk towards the steps together. Jon felt dismissed until she glanced back at him. “I’m sure you’ll want to tell your queen he is here,” she said stiffly.

Jon expected no less of her. He returned to Winterfell hoping to find his Sansa again but she was his winter queen now. In the years since Jon first left Winterfell as a green boy, he’d faced white walkers and frozen death. He’d felt his skin grow hard as ice as he lay on snowy ground beyond the wall. Sansa, his newly made winter queen, could wield a weapon sharper and more cold than any of them.

He steeled himself before searching out their queen to announce Jaime Lannister’s approach. She would want to know of him and a potential army coming to their aid. Soon, they were gathered in the great hall together. Daenerys Targaryen had demanded a throne befitting her status as a queen be built upon their arrival. Her time in Winterfell had been wrought with tension. Northmen were unused to the formality of titles and court. The dragon queen was ill prepared to demonstrate her strength and leadership in the manner for which those in the north could respect. It was her dragons they wanted. Without those, Jon suspected they would wake to find her throat slit one morning.

“He’s here to bend the knee to his queen,” she said. Her eyes were alight with pleasure as they always were in moments such as these, with a now familiar expression of smug satisfaction.

“He has no army, your grace. I would not be so certain,” Sansa said demurely, as if they were talking of the likelihood of a rain shower. Jon suspected she kept back stronger opinions.

She did not look at him. Sansa avoided him as much as she could in the past several days. His cousin could not forgive and Jon did not know how to explain.

The Lannister brothers walked in together as Missandei read off the long series of titles. Jon noticed the kingslayer gaze about, amused or curious, he did not know which. Sansa took a few steps away from the throne, standing further to his left. She did not spare him a glance.

“Why have you come to my court in Winterfell?”

One of Jaime Lannister’s brows arched. “I swore an oath and I mean to keep it.” He spoke in a plain manner, making Jon look towards Sansa. Her expression did not change.

Dany stood, her lips pulled back into a smile that made Jon think of the serpent-like expressions her dragons wore. The Kingslayer’s face grew strangely solemn and, briefly, his sharp, green eyes bored into his gray ones. He stepped forward, once, twice, before turning abruptly to walk past Jon and coming to an abrupt halt across from Sansa.

A murmur went through the hall as others realized what was soon to take place. Jaime Lannister drew his sword before falling to his knees in front of Sansa. The room quickly grew silent, the audience eager to listen. Jon wondered how many secretly delighted to see the dragon queen spurned in favor of one of their own. She would need to be placated later, a task Jon was quickly growing weary of. Daenery’s expression could not be more sour than if he stuck one of Sansa’s lemons into her mouth.

“I, Jaime Lannister, swear to you, Lady Sansa of House Stark, to shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

The silence in the hall felt heavy on his shoulders. Sansa drew her chin up. “And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” Her voice was loud and confident. Sansa made sure all those present in the hall heard her speak. It was a message.

She shocked him then, quickly dropping to her knees by the kingslayer and leaning into him. They whispered together, Jon could not make out a word of it. Then, suddenly, Jaime Lannister’s head fell back and his neck bobbed from the powerful bellow escaping his throat. Jon seethed with anger and felt the cold stab of jealously as he heard Sansa’s answering laugh, light and beautiful. He’d not heard that sound since before he left Winterfell. Not since their quiet evenings alone in his solar.

***

Sansa had known Jaime Lannister would arrive, since the day Brienne told her of their conversation in King’s Landing. She’d expected him to make a promise or give reference to the oath he once gave her mother. Instead, he gave so much more. She spoke the words as a lord would, accepting his knightly oath before coming to rest by him. The cold of the stone floor seeped through her wool dress.

She stroked the pommel of his sword. “I have seen this sword before, Ser Jaime. Do you know what you carry?”

He gave her a sardonic half grin. “Your sworn shield carries the other. Do you want it back?”

Sansa considered. “No, it is right that both of my sworn shields carry Ice. After the wars are done, we will talk again. I have only one request of you.” She glanced at Jon, enjoying his snarl, before moving closer on her knees and further lowering her voice. “I was once told this sword was to be called Widow’s Wail. As your Lady, I insist you give it a new name. You may even call it Lily Blossom, it makes no matter to me. Can you do that?”

He drew his head back, laughing, strong and confident. Sansa decided she enjoyed hearing it. “A valyrian steel sword named after a flower? I think it’d frighten even the most horrifying beast.”

A giggle slipped from her throat before she could stop it. “It was merely a suggestion.”

“And a brilliant one.” He took her hand, pressing a chaste kiss against it. “You know why I am here,” he said, turning serious. It was not a question.

“I know, yes. Let’s speak elsewhere, shall we?”

He nodded. “Do you wish your brother to come with?”

Sansa refused to so much as glance at Jon. “It would not matter.” He did not listen to her about Ramsay, he took none of her suggestions on ruling. He ignored her advice and deceived her. He gave away all she fought and bled for, had borne abuse for. And he announced it via a mere sentence on a scroll. Likely, he would tell her of her next marriage through a servant.

She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, knowing she stood taller than the dragon queen and even many of the grown men gathered in the hall. “Arise,” she said loudly.

Jaime followed her and offered his arm. She took it, pleased. “I will take you to the Lady Brienne, she will be pleased to see you again. Let us leave others to their…court.”

They left the room together and Sansa did not look back. Outside, she drew him to a secluded part of the courtyard, away from eyes and ears. “Brienne will return within the hour. She’s begun training the women to fight, did she tell you that?”

Jaime’s eyes lit with a fondness. “Good. I think your northern war is already half won. She is…”

“Everything a knight should be,” Sansa finished for him. “There is no army, is there?”

“No.” He grew silent. Sansa realized with a start that his eyes reflected some of the very same pain she felt.

She grabbed his hand to squeeze, it was the golden one she’d heard stories of. Sansa slid up to his wrist and grasped him tightly before letting go. “Does your sister intend to await our doom in King’s Landing or will she be taking action to hurry it along?”

“Brienne told me I haven’t met many girls like you, she was more correct than I realized.” Jaime grew thoughtful as he leaned back against the wall of the great keep, crossing his arms.

Sansa considered. Jaime Lannister fought against Robb and her mother, was the father to Joffrey, and pushed Bran from a window. Now, though, Sansa, felt so very alone in the world. “Are you avoiding giving me an answer?”

He smiled sadly. “Cersei is not one to wait when she can act but I think you already knew that. Is this when you begin to pry at my secrets?”

“We all need to keep some secrets, don’t you think?” Sansa had some of her own buried away so deep that she refused to even think on them.

The lines around his eyes seemed to grow deeper as he frowned. “She’ll be acting. King’s Landing may be a thousand leagues to the south of us, but I promise you, she will act.”

It was as she feared, the very thing she’d been dismissed over. Sansa looked about, noticing the increased numbers of people. “Would you join me in my solar, Ser Jaime? I will have food brought to us so you may eat.”

“Jaime. My name is Jaime,” he said sincerely.

She nodded, his meaning was clear. “Jaime. Shall we go then?”

He took her hand, kissing it once more. Sansa understood, it was not flattery that compelled him. She could weep for it. She took his arm and they left for the privacy of her rooms.

On the far side of the courtyard, her brother scowled as he stared at them. That delighted her. Jon could have his armies and his sword, he could keep his queen and her dragons. Sansa hoped he burned from it all.

***

Jon’s right hand drew into a fist where it hid away underneath the table. In the three days since the Kingslayer had been at Winterfell, his rage had come to be a constant companion. The low simmer began the very moment Lannister bent his knee for his cousin.

The first day, he waited several minutes before following the two of them back to Sansa’s chambers. Jon stood outside her door, listening to the deep tones of a man’s voice and the sweet sounds of hers. Jon waited and waited but her door remained closed, the two of them hidden away. Once, he drew the dagger from his belt but then Tyrion appeared before him. “Your sister is a grown woman,” he’d said. It was the second time that day the man spoke with pity to Jon. He’d walked away, listening to the sound of Sansa’s muffled laughter.

The queen’s council met the next day, both Sansa and the Kingslayer in attendance, and they all learned of Cersei Lannister’s broken oath. Daenerys’ temper proved her name true, her anger was truly a storm. In her wrath, she threatened the death of all Lannisters and the people of King’s Landing. She ended the war council before marching from the room, Tyrion following after. The queen spent the rest of her day atop Drogon.

Now, two sunsets later, he sat at council with Sansa and the Lannister brothers once more. The dragon queen had refused to join them, only demanding a solution or she would march south and leave Winterfell to its fate.

“How long until the Golden Company appears beneath our walls?” An army from the south while the undead came at them from the north. Jon avoided meeting Sansa’s eye, she’d spoken the truth to him so long ago. He should have listened.

“Braavos is not so far, they will arrive in King’s Landing soon. They may already be there,” said Tyrion.

“You need more men or your dragon queen will leave.” Jon bristled at the Kingslayer’s blunt pronouncement.

“Jaime, what do you suggest?” His cousin asked sweetly. Sansa sat next to Jaime, her body leaning towards him. Every so often, she’d reach out and give a distracted pet of his arm. Once, Sansa did the same for him.

“I offer the same advice I gave yesterday, Sansa. They will rally to you, Catelyn’s daughter and Robb Stark’s true born sister.”

“I agree with you. All other armies in Westeros are gone, we have no choice but to look where we can. Will you accompany me, Jaime?” Jon hated the way she spoke the man’s name, the velvet sound of it as the barest tip of her tongue peeked out to pet her lower lip. It was much too intimate for Jon.

“It would be my honor, my dearest Lady Sansa,” Jaime said fondly. His green eyes bored into Jon after speaking.

“It’s settled. Sansa and my brother march south to find more men to throw on the pyre so the rest of them can freeze here in the north.”

Jon fingered the dagger at his belt. His chair hit the floor with a dull crash as he hastily stood up. “Sansa, you can’t be serious? You intend to stroll down to the Riverlands with nothing but,” he gesticulated wildly, “him for an escort. In Winter. Are you mad?”

She did not so much as spare him a glance. “Jaime?”

“I admire your brotherly devotion, Lord Snow.” Jon rankled at the name. He’d hated it on the wall and time had failed to lessen his opinion of it. “We can take Brienne and Pod with us. Only four, the travel will be quick.”

“To Riverrun, yes. With all you have told me of my uncle, it will need to be me that goes.” She nodded, her gaze unfocused. “I think we have given you a solution, Jon. You may tell your queen we will bring her more men to die so she can keep her throne.” She stood, the kingslayer quickly following. “Oh,” she said absently, as if suddenly remembering. “The Vale lords may provide you with some trouble. Can I suggest threatening them with being burned? I have heard that’s worked quite well recently.”

The Kingslayer’s hand fell from her shoulder to the small of her back as he silently led her from the room. Jon noticed him leaning down to whisper in her ear just as the door shut behind them.

Tyrion cackled through it all, finally stopping to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Your sister has become a delight, Snow. I envy the man she some day chooses for a husband.”

Jon loathed that man, already plotted his death. He glared at his friend but did not know how to answer. Jon righted his chair before slumping back down in it.

“Ah, I see.”

He looked down at his right hand, letting the fingers stretch wide before drawing them into a tight fist. The Kingslayer was missing his right hand. Jon thought it fitting to choke the life out of him with it. “What do you see?”

“It does not matter.” Tyrion gave a slow exhalation of breath. “We all have our pains, my old friend. Come on, let’s go share our plans with the queen.”

Jon did not move.

*****

“The north is a part of you.”

“Pardon?” Jamie’s comment shook her. Sansa could remember Jon saying much the same thing, not so long ago. That night, they had lingered together in his rooms. “The north has my heart, there is no one else I could trust,” he’d whispered. Sansa felt as if her own heart had turned to ice.

“I feel as if my cock is about to freeze off and here you are, seemingly untouched by the cold. Winter is here, you Starks should know that better than most. Or did the raven up and die before making it this far north?”

Sansa threw her head back, laughing loudly. Jaime had proven to be quite good at distracting her from so much she would rather not dwell on. “You become used to it. Grow out your beard as northerners do, it should help.”

“Yes, but then I’d look like one.” He released her arm before grabbing at her palm and delivering a kiss. “Wait here and I’ll get the horses for our ride.”

She pulled the hood of her cloak down, content to wait until Jaime returned. An arm came from nowhere, wrapping itself around her waist and dragging her back to the inner wall by the bell tower.

“Why are you doing this?” Jon’s grey eyes shone. His body pressed against hers and one hand spread across her chest and neck to prevent her leaving.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she hissed.

“Oh, I rather think you do. This scheme is to get away from me, isn’t it?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “To get away from you?” The accusation made her angry. “I go south because you gave away our home and title. I go south, in winter, because you promised her men to fight her battles. I go south because you pledged our aid in claiming a throne. Do not cast your anger upon me, Jon Snow.”

“You can’t marry without my permission,” he rasped. His face was half hidden between her neck and shoulder.

“You are not my king or my liege lord. You are merely the warden of the north, commander of armies. Nothing more. I do not need your permission to marry, when I decide to do so.” She pressed against his chest. “Leave me be.”

Jon removed his hand from her neck and stepped away ever so imperceptibly. “Don’t go. Not with him.” He tilted her chin up so they were looking into each other’s eyes. Sansa began to think he meant to kiss her. “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

Sansa was not sure what answer to give him. She could lie, tell him that she already had. Or, she could hurt him as he’d done to her by telling him no.

“Lady Stark, our horses are ready.” Jaime spoke sharply, breaking the spell between the two of them.

Jon released his hold on her, letting her move away. “We aren’t done yet,” he growled.

“Yes, we are.” Sansa pulled her cloak up and took several deep breaths. She wondered if others could hear the blood rush of her heart.

She stepped away from Jon, towards Jaime who wrapped an arm around her waist. He did not speak, only staring at Jon with his eyes narrowed. Sansa wondered if they would come to blows right there, she could not bear it. “Let’s go. I would like to ride to the winter town if it pleases you.”

Jaime gave a single tight nod of his head before pulling her in front of him to lead her away. Sansa glanced back. Jon stood where she left him, both his hands drawn up into fists.

***

Jon picked at his plate of food before shoving it away. Sansa had not spoken a word to him since he accosted her the previous day. That night, she had pled illness and not appeared for supper. He did not miss the Kingslayer’s absence as well.

She was in the hall now, seated further down the table than usual with Lannister by her side. It was to be away from him, he knew it. Jealously bit and gnawed at him. Jon absently fingered the dagger on his belt.

“If you’d kindly refrain from gutting my dear brother at meal times, I’d be most appreciative.” He glanced at Tyrion but said nothing. The man sighed but did not press him further.

Jon grabbed his pewter cup of ale and took a sip before stretching out in his chair. He rarely drank to excess but was sorely tempted to do so that night. Tyrion left him to visit with other members of Daenery’s people. Soon after, Sansa did the same thing. She wandered from table to table, visiting the knights and men at arms. He saw her pet arms, clasp hands in her own, give bright smiles, and so much more. Everywhere she moved, men’s eyes followed.

“Is it the northern cold that slows the mind of you Stark men? Not your sister though, she is truly remarkable, don’t you think?” The Kingslayer spoke slowly, making sure Jon heard every word.

“She’s not yours,” he bit out. Not my sister, he thought to himself.

“Oh, no. I never thought she was. We are friends, nothing more.”

Jon wished he would leave. “What do you want?”

“To be honest, I don’t care whether you march north and die. Your sister would though, it would break her heart.”

“What do you want, Lannister?”

“As I said, slow minds.” His green eyes shone in the dim hall light. Jaime’s expression reminded him of the way a cat would sometimes prefer to play with its prey rather than kill it outright. “You should continue sitting here, you brood majestically. Of course, you’re not a king anymore, are you? You gave it away and now your Sansa is leaving with me because of it. She’s in a great deal of pain.” He stood up. “Missing wits,” he said snidely before leaving Jon alone.

He took a final sip of ale before pouring the rest on the floor. Jon scanned the room, seeking out Tyrion. It was time for a new plan.

A few hours later, Jon stood outside Sansa’s door. He knocked firmly and waited for her to open it before walking into her chambers. Jon closed and barred her door.

He eyed Sansa, letting his gaze slowly move over her body. Her chest heaved as she waited for him to speak. Jon undid the clasp of his cloak, laying it across a nearby chair. “You should know, I don’t intend to leave your rooms tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/16: I have turned on comment moderation for this fic. Any further hate comments toward me, other commenters, or the fandom will not be approved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the second chapter.
> 
> Comment moderation was turned on yesterday. If you only want to post hate towards me, other commenters, or fandom, it will not be approved. Otherwise, I would absolutely love to hear from you!

Jon’s words settled into her. She’d seen his look once before, only then he’d been covered in the blood and flesh of dead men. Now, his hair was neatly tied and his knuckles were not scraped and torn. His eyes though, those were the same. The whites shone against a gray so dark they seemed as black as onyx. Jon’s nostrils flared and his jaw flexed as the same energy rippled through his body.

Once Sansa would have welcomed him to her chambers, would have given into the secret she hid away. No longer. “You may sleep by the hearth fire, it should keep you warm enough.”

His lips drew back into a tight frown. “You won’t be going south either. Not with him any other man. Not tomorrow or the day after. Not without my leave,” he said sharply. Jon nodded, seeming to think she would do as he wished, before walking towards her bedchamber. “I’d prefer your bed but in front of the fire will do well enough.”

Sansa stared after him, stunned, before turning her attention to his cloak. She stroked the fur collar, recognizing her work. Jon had not worn it in some time. “You are as mistaken as you were the day before. Have you forgotten so quickly? You are merely Jon Snow now, nothing more,” she called out to him before lowering her voice at his reappearance. “What are you doing?” She stammered out her question. Sansa had not expected this.

Jon bore the blankets and furs from her bed, their ends dragging across the stone floor as he walked. “As you wished,” he spat. “The hearth fire. I’ll enjoy seeing the flame’s glow against your naked skin.” He pulled apart the knot of his sword belt before moving quickly across the room to lay the long strip of leather and scabbard on the floor. Sansa noted he chose the corner furthest from the hearth as he could. “No sword or daggers.” She supposed he did not consider the one between his legs, of course, that was not made with live steel.

“Are you deliberately ignoring me?”

His neck snapped as he turned to look at her. “I’ve paid you the strictest attention, believe me.” Jon strode towards her. Sansa stood a finger’s tip taller but she did not feel that now as he drew himself close to her body. It was as if he was deliberately looming over her. “I’m merely Jon Snow now, nothing more. On that, we agree.“

“I very much appreciate this evening’s discourse over your name and lack of title, Jon Snow. Unfortunately, I will not be joining you under the furs, in my bed or any other location you think of.” She stepped away from him; he followed. Sansa was unused to this behavior with Jon. In the past, she was the one who typically initiated any physical intimacy between them. His action provoked a queer response low in her belly. “You may leave my chambers now,” she said coolly.

“No, I won’t be leaving. Not tonight,” he bit out. His hands grasped her hips, pulling her close, before sliding up to her waist. “My only wish is to be Jon Snow with you. But, to others, I’d be something else, if you wanted it. I could give you all you wanted.” His tone took on an increasingly wistful note as he spoke.

“And how would you know what I want?”

Jon lifted her, drawing her up until she sat on the nearby table, before placing himself between her legs. His right hand stroked from her knee to midway up her thigh. He studied her body, seemingly determined to memorize every thread of her gown and the movement of her chest as she drew breath.

“Jon?”

His gaze moved upwards, settling on her lips for a brief moment until, finally, their eyes met. He licked his lips. “I do know some things, Sansa Stark.”

Her mouth fell open. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he softly echoed.

Suddenly, his hands were on her neck before one slid further, lightly pulling her hair. Sansa’s head tilted back as a shiver of anticipation went through her. Jon’s thumb stroked the sensitive skin from her chin and down. The previous day, Sansa had merely thought Jon meant to kiss her. Now, she realized, he truly did know many things.

Jon’s lips met hers and Sansa stiffened before letting her eyes fall shut as she relaxed into his touch. He pulled at her arms, bringing them up until she encircled his neck. “Much better,” he murmured against her lips before cradling her face once more. A sigh escaped her and her body trembled as she let herself be lost in the pleasure of his lips. His touch was tender and comforting but it frightened her too. Jon groaned before he deepened the kiss, his lips probing against hers. Sansa did not know how much time passed, the long night could have come on them, plunging the world into eternal darkness or a thousand generations of Starks could have lived and died outside the walls of their room. There was only them and their kiss, she did not want anything else.

Sansa heard a determined knock at her door and the spell between them was broken. Their ragged breath mixed together in the quiet that followed.

“Someone at the door of an unmarried woman at this late hour,” he rasped.

Sansa did not point out that Jon had only recently done the same. “It’s Jaime,” she explained. “He always comes to visit before I retire.” He’d started the habit the very first day he’d returned to Winterfell. She had asked why once and Jaime’s eyes grew haunted. “I’m done breaking vows,” he’d said. Sansa did not inquire further.

“The Kingslayer.” His voice sounded close to a growl.

“Jaime will not leave until he sees me,” she warned.

“You should not be so familiar with that man.” His face twisted into a snarl but he left her to open the door.

Sansa stroked her lips with the tip of one finger. She knew they would be red and kiss-swollen but there was nothing to be done for it. She smoothed her hair before moving off the table so she stood in the space previously occupied by Jon.

Jaime wore a feline expression as he looked between the two of them, Sansa supposed he was deciding who to attack first. “I had expected you to be alone, my Lady.”

“My Lady,” Jon said, emphasizing the first word before continuing on, “has company tonight and wishes you to leave. Now.”

“Still struggling with that slow mind, Lord Snow? I don’t serve you.” Jaime smirked at Jon reaching for his missing sword belt before dismissing him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Sansa stared forward, unseeing. If they were alone, she knew what would happen and a part of her wanted it. Another part of her wanted to bring him all the suffering he’d visited upon her. “You can go. Jon would never,” she started before considering how to continue. Sansa had been wrong once before. “He would never deliberately hurt me.” It was the simple truth.

Silence hung between the three of them. Jon merely looked at her, obviously shaken at her choice of words. That pleased her.

Jaime had only sworn himself to her a short time ago yet they had quickly grown close. He nodded, his green eyes boring into hers. “Shall I fetch you in the morning?”

“I look forward to it.”

Jaime turned away to whisper something to Jon and, with a quick glance back to wink at her, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Jon’s earlier determination and confidence seemed to have left him. He made no effort to move closer to her or continue with their earlier activities.

“What did Jaime say to you?” It was no physical threat, Sansa knew that.

“I’d rather not say.” He stood by the door, one hand resting against the oak.

Despair fell over her. “Then I will say goodnight and ask you, once again, to leave.” There was no force to her words this time. Sansa moved towards the fire, wanting distance between the two of them. She looked at the mess of furs and blankets at her feet, telling herself she was right for wanting him to go. Jon was only her half-brother but it was not half a sin.

“He called me a damned fool, unable to recognize the pain I’ve brought upon the woman I so obviously care for.” He took several steps towards her before stopping short. “Perhaps I am a fool. Do you love him?”

“Jaime?” Sansa quickly shoved away the growing fit of laughter. “Have you failed to notice the location of his rooms?”

“Next to Brienne’s, I noticed. What difference does that make?”

She rolled her eyes. “I can assure you, it is neither my bed nor my love he seeks.” Sansa waited patiently until Jon’s eyes grew large. “He’s my friend, nothing more.” She drew her chin up, steeling herself for whatever else Jon might say. Sansa did not intend to share anymore with him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to forgive me but that isn’t going to happen, is it?” She did not answer. “You forget Sansa, I made you a promise. I’d give away that gown you wear along with all the rest of them. I’d let all of the Dothraki live permanently within the walls of Winterfell. I’d swear away any title or claim. I’d sell half the north. I’d kneel, again and again. If it meant you were protected, I’d do it again a thousand times over, whether you hated or despised me for it.”

She felt stunned. “Jon-”

“I’m not done,” he interrupted. “You think I’ve never learned, that I never bothered to listen to you, even after I went south. You’re wrong, I listened to all of it, every single damned word. The difference is, you cared about so much else. All I cared about was you. I’ll wager you believe a push for marriage is coming soon. You’re wrong about that too, I’d gut the man before the ceremony was done, make a sacrifice of him to the gods.”

“Why have you not told me any of this before?”

“Because I didn’t know.” Sansa wondered at that but he did not explain, seemingly in a rush to tell her all. “I have a secret to share with you, no one knows. Well, Bran does and Sam. I suspect Gilly knows too. I told Tyrion before coming to see you and the Kingslayer will know by morning.”

“That’s a great many people, Jon.” She noted the weary slope of his shoulders and worry knotted her stomach. “Is it a painful secret?”

“Yes.” Even with the distance between them, Sansa could see the movement of his throat as he swallowed. “It’s about my mother.” She felt an urge to reassure him. No matter who his mother was, Jon would always be a Stark. Instead, she said nothing. “Her name was Lyanna. She was still young the day she ran away from home. It turns out she loved a man named Rhaegar.”

“Oh, gods.” Her voice was higher than usual.

Jon’s head fell. “You see then? It turns out they were wed in secret. My uncle Eddard Stark found us as she lay dying in her bed of blood.”

“After, he brought you home to Winterfell as his bastard son.”

“Where he lied to me, every day. To all of us.”

“No, he protected you, every day,” she corrected. “Why did you choose to tell me now?”

“You know why, Sansa,” he rasped. The low timbre of his voice tempted her. Gooseflesh covered her body.

She poked at one of the furs with her foot. It was gray, a House Stark color. “I need to sit down.” Jon had spoken true, she did know. Only, Sansa was not so certain if she wanted it.

“It was Jaime Lannister that helped me figure it out. Never tell him that, will you?” Sansa could not see his face but she knew he wore a frown from that admittance. There would never be friendship between the two men. “I spoke with Tyrion after supper so he knows everything. He’s offered to help us, Sansa. The man is a great admirer of yours.” He appeared before her, getting on his knees. Behind him, the fire cracked. “Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard, could never be with you. Rhaegar’s son, though, he can.” He bowed his head, awaiting her response. She felt his fingers tugging on the edge of her gown. Jon was nervous, she realized.

Sansa was not sure what answer to give him. Instead, she stared at the stray curls escaping his leather tie. Curiosity took her, she touched the peak of his hair with her finger. Jon’s lids fell shut at her touch. Sansa traced a path down his brow to his cheek and neck, only stopping when she reached the edge of his gray wool tunic. She stroked the neckline, noticing a loosened thread. “You had leather on a moment ago. What happened to it?”

“I took it off.” Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “It was boiled leather with padding underneath. Leather jerkins lack the protection of plate or mail but it’s still my armor. So, I took it off,” he explained. “I told you I listen,” he finished stubbornly.

She did not respond, watching as he removed her slippers, first one and then the other, setting them next to her chair. “I’m wearing stockings.” Gray wool to match his tunic.

“I know.” Jon surprised her, bending down to plant a kiss on the top of each ankle. “Sansa?” It was half a question, half a plea.

She drew a deep breath. Jon only said her name the once, but it was two answers he sought. She looked past his shoulders towards the fire. Sansa would swear she saw one of the red flames turn white and then red again. “Yes.”

“Lift your skirts for me.” His deep voice made her toes curl. She pulled her skirt up, baring her legs to the knee, and waited. Jon’s nostrils flared as his hands cupped her calf before sliding up to the middle of her thigh. He slid the stocking off, tossing it away, before kissing along the same path his hands just created. He repeated the process, removing the other stocking, only this time, his kisses went further as a hand began to stroke her inner thigh.

Sansa stood abruptly. “You undress first,” she ordered. Jon rose and quickly pulled his tunic off, throwing it past her in his eagerness. She gave a half smile of amusement before seeing the scars along his chest and belly. Sansa wanted to touch all of them but instinct held her back. A quick glance at Jon’s face told her it was the right decision. She understood, they both wore scars along their body, only some of which were visible. Instead, Sansa touched along his sides, bringing her hands to rest by the tie of his breeches. “Can I?”

“Go ahead.” Jon’s breath was quick and shallow.

Sansa untied his breeches as fast as she was able, her fingers felt clumsy. They fell down, sagging low on his hips. She pushed at them before untying his small clothes. “Your boots are still on,” she whispered.

“Easily remedied.” He sat, pulling them off before removing his remaining garment. “Done.”

Jon’s manhood jutted out before him but it did not frighten her. The curls around it were as black as the rest of his hair. Sansa palmed his hips before sliding her hands further back. Everywhere she looked, Sansa saw muscle. “You have a soldier’s body.” Sansa decided she loved his body.

“It’s served me well enough,” he said self-consciously. Jon was unused to compliments, she realized, or at least those sincerely given. “Will you let me help you with your gown?”

A memory of another long ago night struck her then. But, this was a different man and this was not that night. It was desire she felt now. “It ties in the back.” She turned slowly and felt him tugging at the laces. Sansa stiffened the first time she felt his touch on her back before relaxing. His hands were warm against her skin. Jon kissed along her spine as her dress slowly loosened and began to fall down her body. Sansa summoned the small bit of courage she needed before facing him once more. She stepped out of the dress, leaving it in a pool on the floor behind her.

“You’re a vision,” he said before cupping her face to pull her close until their bodies were pressed together.

This kiss was different than the first, needier and more demanding. Jon’s lips were firm, taking the kiss ever deeper. Sansa whimpered and he seized the advantage, his tongue sliding past her lips to taste and lick at her. She grabbed his waist, convinced her legs would cease to work at any moment. It was bliss.

He broke the kiss, his breath was harsh and his eyes were glazed. Sansa suspected she was the same. “You should know, I intend to do that many more times,” he said before kissing her chin and lower. Sansa’s head fell back and all she felt was his lips and tongue and hot breath against her.

“So lovely,” he murmured. Sansa gasped as she felt him suckling at her nipple. He surprised her then, blowing cool air so it puckered further. Jon gazed up at her with an expression of delight that made her think of a child discovering a new toy. Or a boy playing with his sword for the first time. He did the same with her other breast before kissing her waist and hips and the top of her thighs. “Lay down.”

“Here?” Sansa looked at the furs and blankets Jon had laid out. Her bed would be more comfortable.

“It was your insistence.” She had a different recollection of events but did not speak up. “Besides, I want to see you.” He kissed her and, slowly, they lowered themselves onto the furs until he rested on his knees between her legs.

Jon’s hand covered her belly as his eyes roamed over her.

“You’re relaxed,” she blurted out.

An amused smile took him as he indicated downwards with his eyes. “That’s not quite the term I would use.”

Sansa grabbed him then, stroking. She felt wicked.

Jon hissed as his body began to lean forward. “Wait,” he whimpered, pulling her away. “There is something I want to do first.”

He began to shoulder her legs apart. “What are you….oh…oh….Jon….oh…” Moans escaped her, she could no longer summon words. Her arms reached out, searching blindly.

He caught them, bringing her hands to his head. “Use me,” he said before she felt his tongue against her once more.

She did as told, grasping and pulling at his soft curls as her back arched and an unending series of wordless cries fell from her lips. Sansa reveled in the feel of his tongue and lips as ripples of pleasure traveled through her body. She felt a growing tension in her as his fingers dug into her hips. Something happened and she began to buck against him before stilling, unable to speak or move.

“You’re stronger than you look.” Sansa opened her eyes to see Jon wearing a self-satisfied grin.

She traced the wrinkles around his eyes before smoothing his hair back. His grin fell away, replaced with a solemn expression she’d only seen once or twice before. Jon was waiting for her, she realized. He wanted permission.

She pulled him close, letting one hand settle on his shoulder and the other in the small of his back. “We need to trust each other.”

His body shook with silent laughter and Sansa felt a burst of pride over it. There was little room in their lives for laughter these days, in a world of dragons and frozen death. Jon felt the weight of his responsibilities so very keenly, he often refused to let himself experience even the smallest measure of joy. Sansa vowed to herself to give him other moments such as this. Jon deserved it, he deserved so much more.

“Aye, we do.” She felt his hand on her belly and then between her thighs. Sansa braced herself for pain as he began to enter her. “This should feel good, Sansa,” he murmured against her lips before lightly kissing and pulling her lower lip with his. Jon rested his weight on one arm while the other traveled the side of her body to pull her leg up over his hip to settle more between her legs. Sansa let out a surprised squeal. “You like that, do you?”

She did. Jon had spoken true. Gray eyes met her blue ones as he slowly pulled out and thrust into her once, twice more.  His face and neck were flushed. Sansa reached up to scratch at his beard. She whispered his name as he kissed the tip of her fingers. His expression grew determined and his movements more urgent. He went faster and faster as his jaw clenched and his eyes turned glassy. Sansa loved it, she loved all of it and began to buck her hips against his. Her head fell back, exposing her neck to him, and she felt the rough scratch of his whiskers as he followed. Finally, with a harsh growl, he pounded into her and stilled.

Sansa felt the weight of his body against hers as he collapsed onto her. She put her arms and legs around him, pulling him close. “Don’t leave.”

He gave a ragged laugh. “I don’t think I’m capable, even if I wanted to.”  She moved her hand down his back, it was slick with sweat. “How are you?”

“Sated.”

“As am I.” Jon lifted himself off her to rest on his back, pulling her with so she lay against his chest. She felt him playing with the strands of her hair. “You should rest. We will be doing that again soon.”

Sansa stared into the fire, the coals glowed and shimmered. There would be much to do the next day. Jon hoped his parentage meant they could find a way to be together. Sansa worried over his queen’s reactions to his news. She worried over armies coming at them from the north and south, the dead and the living. Most of all, she worried for Jon. She kissed his chest before her lids fell shut. Sansa drifted to sleep with the rhythmic thumping of Jon’s heart in her ear. Her final thought was of the vow she’d made earlier, Sansa would find a way to keep it.

*****

Jon woke slowly, content to keep his eyes closed so his senses were overwhelmed with the warmth of Sansa’s body against his. Jon did not know the hour but there was sunlight in Sansa’s chambers and the hearth fire had grown low. He reached out blindly, finding her hip. Jon half opened his eyes to see Sansa, she slept soundly beside him. He reached out, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You do create the most romantic of sights, Lord Snow.”

Jon tensed, recognizing the wretched voice. He pulled the blankets up to better cover Sansa before turning around. “Fucking Lannisters,” he bit out.

Tyrion clapped his hands once before letting out a bellowing laugh.

Jaime sat in the nearby chair, his legs splayed out in front of him. “I told you he wouldn’t last.”

“It’s disappointing, I was so certain he would wait until after we met this morning. How many gold dragons do I owe you? Twenty, was it?”

Jon stared in shock. “You made a wager on when I would bed Sansa?”

Tyrion gave a conciliatory nod. “Well, yes. That’s what I do. You’ve cost me a great deal of money, Snow. Us Lannisters are not as rich as we used to be.” Jon ignored him,  looking around for his sword and daggers. “Please don’t kill my brother. Your Sansa would miss him, I’m quite certain.”

“He won’t kill me. The dolt should be offering me great thanks, really.” Jon wanted to choke the smirk off the Kingslayer’s face.

“Excellent point. Perhaps he should pay you the dragons.”

“Shut up, both of you,” he spat in exasperation. Jon turned to gently wake Sansa, ignoring the snickers behind him. “Sansa, wake up, we have a pair of uninvited guests,” he whispered. He watched her eyes open and a sweet smile come over her. Jon fought back the urge to kiss her.

“Guests?” She asked groggily.

“Yes, the two idiots behind me.”

“Well, that was unnecessary,” said Tyrion.

Sansa sat up, pulling the blankets around her so she remained covered. Her hair was mussed from sleep and their lovemaking. Jon thought she looked a queen. “Good morning to both of you. Are we needed?”

“Your fool here was just magnanimously thanking me for helping him to overcome his slow mind.”

Jon felt his right hand drawing into a fist. Sansa’s lightly brushed his knee.

“You both should hurry and dress. The queen is riding her black beast and I expect her to be gone for several hours. We need a plan before she returns. Considering how we found the two of you,” Tyrion waved his hand about, “I am assuming we have much to discuss.”

He did not answer, looking to Sansa instead. His stomach twisted.

“We will meet you in Jon’s solar shortly. We  have news to share with both our bannermen and your queen and would greatly appreciate any assistance you can offer.” Sansa was answering Tyrion but Jon felt as if she was speaking to him.

His heart fluttered. Sansa moved imperceptibly but it was enough. The side of her breast exposed itself to him. Jon felt his cock stir. “Get out.”

“Jon,” Sansa admonished.

“My apologies. Get out, now.”

Jaime Lannister stood, peering down at them both. “Food will be waiting for you. Take your time…dressing.”

“Thank you, Jaime,” Sansa said sweetly.

He kept quiet until they were alone once more. “I forgot to bar the door after the Kingslayer left us last night.”

Sansa lay back down, her red hair a halo all about her. “Whatever happens, never forget our father loved you like a son and Robb loved you as his dearest brother and friend. It’s the same for Arya and for Bran too. You are a Stark to us, you will always be a Stark.”

Jon settled between her legs but made no further effort to touch her. “The world may very well think me something different soon.”

She cradled his face. “You’d still be Jon Snow to me, a Stark of Winterfell.”

That was all he wanted. Jon kissed her and silently made another promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding, a reconciliation of sorts, and an ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled to finish this for a long time. Then, I remembered, it's the human heart in conflict that matters, not politics or ladders or games or wheels.

Jon felt the room’s chill against the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders but could not bring himself to care. Under the furs, Sansa’s warm flesh was pressed against his. Her lids were half open and a lazy smile on her lips. Her hair was still mussed from sleep, the strands spread about on a gray wolf pelt.

The chill did not matter, Jon knew. In her solar, with only the two of them, it was summer.  His thumb drew along Sansa’s chin to her lower lip before he kissed her. Their kiss was slow and leisurely, as if they had an entire day for exploration. It lacked the previous night’s urgency, born of his desperation and fear. Jon was content to linger as they were, to rest between her legs with the soft glow of the hearth’s coals lending her hair a copper shine. Instead, his stomach growled. Sansa giggled at the sound, with her lips still against his.

He drew away, breathing deep. Their time was ending, winter lay outside her door. “Ignore that,” Jon murmured.

“We should dress. It would be ill-mannered to make them wait,” Sansa admonished.

“The Lannisters can go bugger themselves.” It was more than they deserved, after that wager of theirs. Still, Jon rose, leaving her tucked under the furs. “Stay warm. I’ll gather our clothes.” Gooseflesh already covered him. The stone floor was cold against his feet. Her gown and his breeches were in a pile by one of the chairs. His tunic lay some distance away where he’d thrown it in his eagerness. “Where is my jerkin?”

“You removed it for me, don’t you remember?” Sansa asked. “Look by your sword.”

She was right. Sansa was always right, even when it came to the inconsequential. The knowledge had been slowly gained, it would never be forgotten again. “Thank you.” He dressed quickly, feeling a certain shyness as Sansa looked on. There was a bold appreciation to her expression he was unfamiliar with.

“I think it is our hidden scars that most pain us both, don’t you think?” Sansa sat up so the furs fell to her waist and hips. Her pink nipples puckered from the cold. She held up a single hand, palm up, offering. “They are not so easily healed.”

Jon knelt by her, placing her hand against the scars along his stomach. They were an ugly sight, the skin still red and gnarled. He hated to look upon them, to do so meant reliving the events every time. Sansa was the only one who knew. They’d shared their stories with each other in pieces, by the fire light at Castle Black. Then later in his tent as they journeyed south. Many knew his brothers had murdered him, but Sansa was the only one to have heard his tale. “You did not touch me here last night.”

“They are not meant for my pleasure.” No more than hers were meant for his, but that went unsaid. She stroked the skin, up his stomach to his chest. Quickly, she cupped his cheek and her expression grew tender. “Help me dress, Jon. I must look a fright.”

“You look a queen,” he mumbled. Winter’s queen, he thought. She laughed indulgently, not believing him, but said nothing. He fastened the ties of her dress, kissing her back as her skin slowly disappeared in front of him.

“What did you tell Tyrion Lannister? We do not want to be surprised.” She turned to face him, concerned. Sansa’s hair streamed down her back, simple and unadorned, as a northern woman’s should be. “Did we make any promises?”

“No, no promises were asked or offered,” Jon said simply. He’d sought Tyrion out after supper and they’d spoken alone in his friend’s chambers over a cup of ale. There, Jon had shared the truth of his birth which was greeted with great peals of laughter. “Oh, I do pity you, Snow,” he’d said. “It’s help with Sansa you want, isn’t it? She is a great Lady, indeed. I should be thanking you, bringing some joy to your joyless north.” By the end, Tyrion’s laugh turned to bellows. Then, Jon had been made to admit his love for Sansa and sit through a lecture on northern foolery. The memory galled him. “I told him the truth of my parents and said I hoped to find a way for us to be together, if you wanted. He offered to help.”

“Good. That is good,” she said. Sansa nodded her head absently, her eyes were unfocused as she looked past his shoulder. Jon feared he knew the thoughts that consumed her. New promises or not, it was too late. He’d already bent his knee and given up the crown.

“Have you forgiven me?” he asked hesitatingly. Jon wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer.

Sansa’s jaw visibly tightened. He could see her throat move as she swallowed. “It’s not a matter of forgiveness, it’s a matter of acceptance.” Briefly, she hugged her waist before her arms fell to her sides. “Perhaps you do listen, Jon. As you said…” Her voice trailed off before she began again, tremulously, “When it mattered most, you sent me a scroll. I deserved better than that. I still deserve better than that.”

“You’re right, you do.” Jon had wanted to show her he listened the night before. However, when it mattered most, he’d not thought to seek her council. He’d acted, rashly perhaps, thinking mostly of wanting to save her. Only, Sansa did not want his protection, she wanted partnership. “I’m listening now,” he finished lamely.

“Then I have a question of my own. What was it you didn’t know?” His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Last night, you said you didn’t know.”

Cold anger crept over him, although whether it was directed towards the Kingslayer or himself, Jon could not say. It shamed him to realize both Lannisters saw the truth when he was still blind. Jaime Lannister mocked him for it, enjoying Jon’s misery. Tyrion pitied him. He did not know which chafed most. “My love for you,” he said. The admittance felt ripped from his throat. It was not shame over his feelings that troubled him. “I was convinced all we needed was for you to forgive me. Then the Kingslayer came to Winterfell.” Then Jaime took every affectation Sansa once gave him. “Tyrion saw it first. I suppose my pain was not so easily concealed. It was the Kingslayer though, it was him that made me understand.” Jon wanted to choke the life out of him for it. Jon loved her, they’d shared their pains, yet he’d not seen it.

“What did he help you understand?” Her question felt like a test. Jon would pass it, he knew.

“It shames me,” he admitted. “It was him that made me realize I owed you the full truth.” And he could burn in all the Seven Heavens for it. “Still, I don’t understand why you’d seek friendship with that man,” he blurted out.

“You love me?” Her question was a whisper, as if she was afraid to speak to loudly. Jon could not blame her. Sansa clung to hope and they lived in a world seemingly determined to quash it from her.

“More than I have words to express,” Jon said.

“You love me,” she said, more to herself than to him. Jon stayed quiet, hoping his smile gave the same message. “You were honest with me and it is my turn to be honest with you. Jaime is my friend, yes, but it was you that helped me realize. I could have another enemy or I could have a friend. I chose friendship. He fights by our side and he fights to protect our home. A person who does that is not our enemy.”

Secretly, Jon disagreed. The man enjoyed belittling him, making japes at his expense. He was the one with his sword hand, yet always, it was Jon who felt defenseless. “I was reminded not so long ago of our true enemy. Shall we go?”

Sansa nodded. Jon kissed her one last time. His stomach twisted, worry over what they may soon find on the other side of her door once again returning. They walked the short distance to his rooms, to the Lannister brothers waiting at a table and two empty chairs.

“Our young lovers appear. How lovely,” the Kingslayer said in that wretched voice of his. “You are a quick one, aren’t you Snow?”

Tyrion slid what Jon realized was a pair of gold dragons across the table to his brother. “You’re an expensive man to know,” he sighed.

Jon grimaced, reaching for his sword. His belt was not on the other side of the room this time, only Sansa took his hand and smiled sweetly at him.

“Breakfast is waiting for us. My thanks to you both.” Sansa sat and began to nibble at a plate of fruit and sweet bread waiting for her.

Jon wanted to argue, to explain the Lannister’s wager, but did not. Sansa understood as well as he did, it was her courtesy guiding her. He could do the same. “What is your plan?” Sansa’s hand squeezed his thigh but Jon ignored it.

“I was mistaken, it seems. I was so sure I would envy the man Sansa chooses for a husband. Instead, it turns out I admire him.” Jon stared at Tyrion sharply who promptly gave aloud exhalation of breath, exasperated. “You, Jon Snow. I would think that is obvious. Did I fail to mention your marriage?”  

“Jaime?”

“Within the hour, before she returns,” he answered, speaking directly to Sansa. “In the snow by the heart tree, you will be a truly stunning bride.”

“So soon,” she mumbled.

Jon’s heart thumped. He’d been so certain it was also her desire, but he was the only one to declare his love. “Is that not what you want?” He misliked the uncertainty that could be heard in his question.

“It is not that,” she said hastily. “There is more. What else?”

“You will kneel, both of you, to her, with all your bannerman, the north and the Vale, to serve as witness.There can be no doubt of your loyalty. Swear to her as your queen, pledge yourselves to her cause. She needs to believe you are not a threat.”

Sansa’s face fell but she said nothing. The room was quiet. Jon risked a glance at the Kingslayer who stared back at him, his feline green eyes boring into him. There was nothing he could say or do. Jon had already given up his crown.

“If that is what must be done then we will do it,” she said. Jon let go of the breath he did not realize he was holding.

The door burst open. “The Dothraki and your men from the Vale fight again.” Gray Worm stood there, in, standing in his usual siff pose.

“It appears we need to stop a disagreement. Will you join me, Lady Stark?”

Sansa rose. “This is now a daily occurrence. Two men were killed yesterday.” Another the day before and more the day before that, Jon knew.  The Dothraki were not loved by the people of Westeros.

Jon did not follow, his presence would be unwanted. The Vale made a point to remind him it was Sansa they followed, not him. The room was quiet as he glumly ate his food. Jon had no wish to make idle chatter with the Kingslayer. Still, he could feel a surging joy. Sansa had agreed to wed him that very day, Jon would never have thought it so easy.

“It’s not so easy,” said a voice that pained his ears. Jon glance up, not realizing he’d spoken aloud. “It’s not easy at all. You think it is because you aren’t the one who is paying the price. She is.”

Jon gripped his dagger but said nothing.

“You don’t like me, do you? Well, I admit, I don’t like you much either. Do you want to know why she counts me a friend?” Jon wanted to cut off his left hand and watch the blood slowly drain from his stump. “I make her laugh and I distract her. I offer counsel when she asks. I have no hidden ambition or loyalty. She knows exactly who and what I am. More than that, Sansa understands we are fighting on the same side.”

“If you fight the dead with me, I’ll grant you that much.”

Jaime Lannister hummed, amused. “Are you ready to thank me yet?”

He grimaced. “Aye, I offer great thanks for your never ending insults and the wagers you make over the woman I love.” Jon straightened in his chair, glowering at the man.

The Kingslayer leaned back, at ease, and roared. “Perhaps your wits are not as frozen as I once thought. Well, you’ll thank me for protecting your new bride while I travel with her in the Riverlands.”

Jon’s vision turned red. He stood abruptly, kicking his chair back. His right hand drew into a tight fist. “You go nowhere with her.”

Lannister smirked, his expression one of false innocence. “Oh, dear. Did we fail to mention this part too?”

The door opened. “Ah, my brother has shared the rest of our good news. You may release your sword, Snow. I seem to be making a habit of asking you not to kill him. But, again, please don’t kill my brother. I only have the one.”

A hand stroked his back. “Jon, I knew this would be the price to pay from the beginning. The Riverlands will rise for me. If you don’t trust him, then trust in me.”

He did not miss the warning. “I’ve always trusted you, Sansa. Always.”

“Your…our queen has commanded us to give her an army to fight against the sellswords. That is what I intend to do. You will need to rule here again.”

“Aye.” The Kingslayer was right. It was Sansa that paid the price, the knowledge burned him.

“Then let’s have a wedding.”

Then a wedding night, Jon thought, but he wisely kept it to himself. Instead, Jon faced her. Sansa loved him, he realized, even if she had yet to say the words. He leaned close to her, so close the Lannisters could not hear. “I think we need to protect each other,” he whispered into her ear.

She gasped his name. “We must hurry.”

So they did, a mad dash to inform their family and gather witnesses before the heart tree. They wed before kneeling before the gods to give prayer. The queen’s eyes had an angry fire to them, but they bent the knee, giving her two kingdoms and promising a third. Still, Jon did not miss the shine in Sansa’s eyes. She’d given up one dream in choosing another.

Finally, they stood outside what could now be rightly called their solar door. He kissed her. “We’re married. I can’t believe it’s real.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, grinning. “Open the door. It’s very real.”

He did, only to find the Kingslayer reclining at her table, his legs stretched across the top. “I thought you both might enjoy my company.”

“Jaime.” Jon supposed he could take some small measure that Sansa did not say his name in her usual sweet manner. “You were not expected.”

“I have something for you. It’s travelled with me all the way from King’s Landing. It belongs to both of you now, I think.” He stood up, handing Sansa a simple doll.

A great sob spilled from her lips as she ripped the doll from Lannister’s hands. “I thought this was lost. I thought I would never see it again.” Sansa stroked its hair. Jon stood next to her, forgotten.

“It was in your old rooms. I discovered it after you went missing.”

Sansa showed it to him but her grip did not lessen. “Father gave it to me. I was angry at the time but after…..”

“Give it to your daughter one day, Sansa.” He nodded. Jaime’s usual demeanor was gone. Jon felt as if he was glimpsing the man his new wife called friend for the first time. “Good night, to both of you.” He left them.

“I’ll be right back.” he said before quickly following after. “Ser Jaime,” he called out to the man’s retreating form.

Jaime turned to face him. “Have you come to thank me?”

“I want you to know I trust you to keep her safe for me.” Jon wanted to thank him but the words would not form. “The dead are coming for us. When they do, I would be glad to have you fighting at my side.”

His expression grew serious. “I would be glad for the same. Perhaps one day, I’ll save Sansa’s life. When that day comes, you can thank me then. Good night, Snow.” He left Jon standing alone in the hallway.

He returned to Sansa who stood where he’d left her. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

*****

It was summer. The sky held a brightness Jon had once despaired of ever seeing again. The breeze was hot and sticky against his skin. His children played in the yard, kicking and pushing a ball about between the two of them.

“Will you be returning to Casterly Rock soon?” he asked Tyrion who stood next to him.

“Not quite yet. Sam has a new book for me to read and we’ve started another game of Cyvasse.”

“I wish you luck.” Jon did not push further, he understood. Every so often, his old friend would talk of returning to Casterly Rock. Always though, a new excuse would arise, either a new book or great discussion of history with Bran, or something else. Tyrion was haunted by the same ghosts as him. It made leaving Winterfell an almost impossible task.

Lyanna shrieked before running up to Tyrion, throwing herself at his legs. His friend picked her up, dropping kisses on her forehead and cheeks before setting her down. She immediately went after the ball, determined to win it back from her twin. “She will be as beautiful as her mother one day.”

“Aye, she will.” Lyanna and Robb had passed their second name day a few moons back. She was their heir, Jon hoped she ruled as queen with all the wisdom and compassion as her mother. “We will be starting construction on the glass gardens soon. I thought you might enjoy helping,” he said casually, already knowing the answer.

Tyrion’s eyes lit up. “I’d be delighted. You’ll be needing my assistance soon enough, Snow.”

“I suppose I will.” Jon laughed.

As if to prove the point, a servant appeared before them. “Your grace, the queen asked me to fetch you. She says her time is here.”

Jon’s heart dropped. He’d not been present the first time, he was determined to be the second. Sansa had tried to explain it was not proper but he remembered Jaime’s story and told her no one could stop him.

“Go to Sansa, Jon. I’ll watch the children for you. Besides, they always did like me better than you.” As if to prove his statement true, Robb came up for a hug. It was the children that kept Tyrion in Winterfell too, Jaime played a great role in keeping them safe.

Jon gave a hasty thank you before kissing the twin’s brows and sprinting towards the great keep. “I suppose you’ll be expecting me to thank you for this too.”

The image of Jaime’s green eyes flashing appeared in his head. “Are you ready to thank me yet?” The question came from a long ago memory, as it so often did. Jon answered that question already, he did not give a different answer today.

Sansa was in her birthing bed. She wailed his name as soon as he appeared. Jon’s stomach twisted, taken by a fear greater than any White Walker had caused. He drew his wife into his arms, whispering words of love. He did not know what else to do.

Time passed and a newborn babe’s cries filled the room. Sansa fell back against him, her hair sweat soaked. “You have a son,” the maester announced.

Jon wiped at his cheeks as their new child was placed in Sansa’s arms. All who’d been present at his own birth were long dead, but it made no matter. His new son looked the same as he did as a babe, he knew.

His wife’s eyes shone. “What shall we name him?”

He remembered the long ago day when Jaime saved her life and that of their unborn children. It’d struck him then, the sight of Jaime’s body against the white snow and gray stone of Winterfell, Stark colors. They’d fought against the dead, and in the end, Jaime saved his family with the Valyrian steel blade made from Ice. Jon had closed his green eyes one last time and told him thank you, but his words had come to late.

“Jaime,” he said. “His name is Jaime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was planned as only a one-shot but expanded based upon reader requests. If you enjoyed it, I'd really appreciate hearing from you.


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